


If One Dumb Dance Is All It Takes

by mangoesntangoes



Category: Renegades - Marissa Meyer
Genre: M/M, um angst? (But fluff so yay), we love out gai bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangoesntangoes/pseuds/mangoesntangoes
Summary: "...Neither of them could properly express to each other but they love to do it. Hugh cried on Simon's shoulder, Simon laid his tired body on top of Hugh. They cried, they rested, and...they laugh. It was love enough when they got each other to laugh.It was love. That's all that statement needed to be..."
Relationships: Hugh Everhart | Captain Chromium/Simon Westwood | The Dread Warden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	If One Dumb Dance Is All It Takes

The first time Simon had ever worn a dress was because of a dare. A stupid dumb dare. All for a dumb game. His brothers thought he was scared. All he wanted was to prove them wrong. He knew it was a joke but he couldn't help it much. 

But when he came striding out into the hallway, he felt like he was...right. Like he was walking on a catwalk. It made him happy seeing his brothers and sisters smiles, laughing and smiling not to be mean, but to be encouraging. They took pictures of him posing, he was in his own little world. A beautiful world he felt ok in.

Simon let go of his breath...It was...a dress. And it felt ...right. And what did it matter, really? It was just a piece of fabric.

And it more didn't help that his real mother would throw...words...at him. Horrible, horrible words. It was almost comical, a love so one-sided. Simon had once gave her the love he thought she deserved. Or was, at least, willing to take. Penelope chose cloth over a human. To love demand over enjoyment. To only love a face that belonged to her body. To love beauty over will. Put plainly, she was a self-centered woman.

_Handsomeness and Beauty come from the pure soul, not from petty play. You'll never find someone to be as absorbed in your fantasy world._

Petty play...Simon scoffed.

"It's because you're prettier than her," Sirona and Eileen would say. They would show him pictures of her in her wedding dress. And Simon admitted, it was god awful. It was all ragged and shoddy like she hadn't even bothered to at least throw it in the dryer. It. Was. Horrid. Simon laughed at her. He knew it wasn't right. But sometimes, doing bad things felt good.

_"And you even manage to wear the ugliest one"_

Says you, Simon thought. Hypocrite.

And when the City came to shambles, his real mother drilled her beliefs into his brain. What's all of the point saving a City already broken? And Simon couldn't help but feel she was right in that time. It was always her that was right. It was a rule to live by. And it became grounded into Simon's head, even at some point becoming his own belief. Like an epitome of her very living.

What would be the point of getting yourself killed for someone who was already dead? What would be the point of being a hero? He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. She needed no more than "he's fine, I guess" when she asked about the Hugh he was meeting. He didn't know at when but at some point, his mother went on a tangent and Simon couldn't stop himself before the words slipped out of his mouth.

"Hugh doesn't think that way."

Of course, Hugh didn't think that way. He wasn't a Westwood.

"And what exactly does Hugh think?" she forced, turning to him with burning eyes. And the way, she stood so tall made Simon sick. Like Hugh wasn't even allowed to be spoken of in "her house." But it wasn't her house, and Simon would be damned if she thought not another person's voice was more worthy than hers.

"We could do something," Simon said back with the same amount of force. It was almost funny. He sounded just like Hugh.

"And that something is what? Get killed?" And she laughed. Laughed a good hard hearty laugh, and only did so harder when he told her to stop.

"At least, he's willing to get killed for someone like you!" Simon slammed his fists on the table, feeling a bolt on a knuckle becoming loose. His voice was loud, dejected and he didn't care when he broke the rule of No Yelling in my household. And she didn't seem to care either. She only wanted be right and have the last word. The last laugh.

"And who told him to do such a foolish thing?" 

He didn't remember what they began yelling at each other. Just that, it was becoming incoherent and when her hand came down, his voice hitched and died.

Simon had nothing more to say after that. It was a foolish thing, that he could admit to agreeing to. But it was also an admirable thing. To save people, even if you had to consider if they were worth saving. But that's not something Hugh would ever consider. He had too much of a good heart. His mother did not care. It was too bad she couldn't see through her eyes full of glass. And Simon touched his chest, feeling his heartbeat, realizing he was made of that same damn glass.

Simon stared into the mirror as he fluffed out his hair. All black and puffy. He had taken out his dreads in some kind of state of panic.

_If I look different, then...it won't be me._

And he did look different.

Round glasses with a skinny gold rim. They made his eyes look a bit bigger than they actually were. And they weren't as tight around his face as he would have wanted them to be. His hair out and free. He had taken out his contacts for the glasses, dark purple eyes, speckled with gold, staring back at him in the mirror.

He did look different.

But he had the same mom. The same siblings. The same life. It was still him. The same glass body.

He flexed out his fingers in front of him. The outfit came with a set of black gloves but he only ever found the one.

Handsomeness and beauty come from the pure soul, not petty play.

...He took the glove off. This wasn't some kind of play.

He felt happy. Actually happy. Sure, other things made him feel that way. What did it matter that this was one of those things?

He forgot if anyone was even here, and settled for letting the heat in his eyes become a burden to his face. He tried to use the glove as a wipe but it only ended up stinging his cheeks.

It didn't really help when Hugh found him under the sink.

"Hi," he greeted. Quietly. As if he were a stray puppy, dead set on running away. He bent down on his knees, placing a hand on Simon's thigh.

"You look nice." Hugh smiled, trying to place himself underneath the sink with him. But he realized he didn't fit much and settled for resting his shoulder against the wall. He brushed a curl around Simon's glasses, tucking it behind his ear.

"Thanks..." Simon muttered, or rather tried through a quiet gasp. It was hard to speak when your eyes spoke for you. Thank you for being generous, he thought.

"You do."

"Oh, who cares?" Simon spat.

"Exactly. Who cares?" he said. Simon looked to him and Hugh looked back at him with a face of no mirth. It was the face he would use idiots who tried to fight him and kids on the street looking for the home they never had.

"You wear clothes. That's that," he said.

And that was just that. Simon wore dresses. He wore clothes. And if Hugh could tell him that without even knowing much of why...then why couldn't he?

Because Hugh...Hugh loved him. It was that simple. Simon almost couldn't believe it could be that simple. Hugh actually loved him. Not like his mother.

Because Hugh didn't mind fighting Simon's own battles.

Because Simon could walk on his own, but Hugh didn't mind carrying him.

Simon didn't do enough for himself, most times.

And Hugh did not care.

Even if Simon couldn't even bring himself to put pants on, he would take his hand and say you're beautiful. Because he loved him.

He loved him even when he was left for longer than he would say. He loved him even in lies. Lies that Simon would hide behind being afraid that the truth would ruin everything. Even when the truth wasn't even that bad.

He loved him even if he was yelling. He loved him to calm him down, to get his words out. The ones that always became trapped inside his throat.

He loved him even if he couldn't find the strength to say I love you back.

But he did. It just wasn't a thing he could say all the time.

Because he started to feel like a hypocrite.

Who says I love you then ignores them for so long? Who says I love you and not act like it?

It's not like Simon wanted it to seem like those things were true but he couldn't help for his brain to tell them that they were. For a while, Simon hadn't even spoke to Hugh nor given him the attention that you would usually give to your boyfriend during a cold stormy month that showed no signs letting up for even a sliver of sunlight.

Those things aren't true, but aren't they? A constant battle between yes and no and no and yes and yes and no and yes. But no.

Hugh loved him. And he took care of him. Simon loved him back. He'd be an idiot not to. He looked up at the boy he knows he loves.

He knows he loves in that thick skull was actually a charming and clever brain. He know he loves the way when the grey of his eyes get brighter against the blush of his cheeks when he focuses on Simon's lips for a bit too long. He loves the way his pink lips pursed when Simon returned the same longing look. He loves the way when he would scratch at the light stubble at his chin, deep in thought.

Simon was so absorbed in the way the grey of his shirt brought his crystal eyes that he didn't even hear the music beginning to play.

Hugh grabbed his hands and pulled him to his bare feet. And they were chest to chest.

"I don't – I can't dance..." Simon began as he tried to pull away. Hugh just pulled him back

"I can't either," he said, giving him a light twirl.

"But we can dance if we want to."

Simon breathed hitched. We can dance if we want to.

Simon couldn't dance but...he did want to.

And they smiled as the room began to sway around them.

Neither of them could dance but they could love to do it. And they did. They stumbled and tripped and they laughed.

Neither of them could speak proper English sometimes but they love to do it. They stuttered and mumbled and... they laughed.

Neither of them could properly express to each other but they love to do it. Hugh cried on Simon's shoulder, Simon laid his tired body on top of Hugh. They cried, they rested, and...they laugh. It was love enough when they got each other to laugh.

It was love. That's all that statement needed to be.

Love was all of that time it took to pick themselves up again. All of that time it took to realize that they were actually saying something over the thoughts of everything that made them love you and you love them back.

"...And I don't think Georgia understands my expertise, either," Hugh complained, crossing his arms.

"She keeps calling me a himbo." Hugh scratched at his head. It looked like he was wondering if that was adding anything to what he was saying before. About his taste in clothes and fashion and whatnot. Simon shook his head, laying it on Hugh's shoulder. Hugh had stopped moving his feet, his body still swaying slowly.

"You're my himbo," he reassured.

"Ha, yea..." Hugh laughed.

"....what does it mean?"

"Himbo?"

Hugh thinned his lips giving a side glance. The way his head moved, embarrassingly, made Simon laugh. In a good way.

"It's...a guy who's dumb...but he's cute." Simon placed his hands on Hugh's cheeks, feeling where his cheekbone ended and met to his jawline.

"Oh," Hugh laughed. Before really taking into thought the words that just been said between them. Which made Simon laugh again. And then Hugh laughed. And the bathroom was filled with a cacophony of snorts and wheezes.

Days would consist of constant reassurance and laughter and tears. Months would pass by, Simon giving himself the time he needed to run away. To settle in himself and have a want to be happy. And giving himself time to ease back into Hugh's life, promising him and himself, he would stay. It took too much time to run. And when he stayed, they would talk and ramble seemingly about nothing but it felt like everything at once.

"Well, what do you call a guy who's cute and smart?" Hugh had somehow brought up again, when they were cooking dinner with a use of a slow cooker.

"I don't know, Hugh," Simon chuckled. He snuggled his face into his chest, still feeling their bodies swaying as one, as if they were a still boat on a calm sea.

"I'll call them Simons." And Hugh cackled feeling Simon cringe beneath him.

Simon felt happy. This made him happy. What did it matter if he was only happy in his fantasy world? He found someone to share it with.

Hugh was that one to share his fantasy world with. All that time Simon took trying to love in the real hellish world started to become the time that they made a world for themselves. It all took time.

But for some reason, no one wanted to understand that.

The time it takes to love.

The time it takes to break.

The time it takes to heal.

the time it takes to learn.

And the time it takes to want.

Wants and needs could go hand in hand but they could be two different things.

They didn't need to dance. They just wanted to. And almost every night, wherever they were, they took time, even if it was only a couple of minutes, to dance. To be silly.

And if they both could be happy here, dancing senselessly (if you could even call it dancing), barefoot, in the small dimly light bathroom, then they can give the real world a chance. And if one dumb dance was all it took to realize that this is the love they learned to want, then they can give the real world a chance.

The real world that hated them so much. The real world that would turn their back on them every which way. But they had that time. That time to love again. Making the City realize that it could love itself enough to let it think that it was even worth saving. That time to break. To see that even all in the hands of a couple teens, some might not make it. Most will not make it. That time to heal. To make it known that they were going to save it. What was even left of it. To build it up again.

They were going to save it.

"I don't think he's gonna make it," Evander said more to himself. Simon ignored him but quietly thanked Kasumi for having punched him in the arm.

We have to save them, Simon thought, the embers of the fire blazing his eyes.

We're going to.

He closed his eyes and saw his mom's face at the back of his head. And he smiled.

Because he knew he proved her wrong. He did find someone to have that fantasy world with. And to save the real one with too. Hearing the cheers around him. Seeing Hugh standing tall on the top of the Cathedral, the helmet glinting bronze and white.

And when he took his first steps down from the burning Cathedral, his pike fell from his hands. From the distance of where Simon was standing, in a pile of ash and blood, he saw the light of Hugh's eyes fade and he fell to his knees with a tired smile. Simon ran to him before he could completely fall, not caring for the sole of his boot that came off, pushing his chin up to meet his grey eyes with his own.

"We did it," Hugh wheezed, gripping Simon's arms. Simon smiled, pressing his lips to the ones he loved with all of his heart.

"We did it," he repeated in a whisper.

" _Sei bella qualunque cosa accada_ ," Hugh whispered, his voice rising and dropping.

Simon couldn't help but giggle. Their fingers intertwined, one by one.

"What does it mean?"

Hugh smiled, kissing Simons bare knuckles.

"You're beautiful. No matter what."

Simon smiled. He rested his lips on Hugh's bruised temple. And he said it back.

" _Eres hermoso pase lo que pase_ "

And the rest ran to them, cheers and cries drowning out the sounds of their heavy sobs.

And they gave themselves time.

Time to let the everything heal. And they took that time to learn.

They learned to dance. They learned each other's language. They learned how to be good fathers. They learned each other.

And no matter what, their dancing was beautiful.

Their laughs were beautiful.

Their love was beautiful.

They can love if they want to.

And, in time, The City will learn how to love just as they learned how to live. Not as heroes, as Captain Chromium and The Dread Warden, but as Hugh and Simon Everhart.

And Simon Everhart entered the kitchen where his husband had his back turned, washing dishes. He was wearing a t-shirt, hair disheveled, humming the songs of the radio to himself. Like he was the only one in the world 

"Hugh? Is Alec really dead?" Simon hugged him from behind and he turned.

"There's...There's no way he isn't." Hugh set down the towel he was using to dry his hands. "...He jumped straight into the fire," he muttered. His face looked as if he was reliving the entire scene. A fire consuming everything in it's way, and a person willing to be eaten.

Simon turned his head away, seething. Hugh grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him close. His hand rested on Simon's hair, his other arm cradling his back. A thing you do to comfort your love.

Simon couldn't help but let out his sobs. How close that it could have been Hugh. And Max. God, Max.

That thought only made him cry harder. He already lost one of his best friends. He could have lost his child, and his husband.

That's why they needed all that time to love one another. What if one day, time was up? And you never used any of it? Not a single minute?

Simon looked up at Hugh again and again. And each time Hugh hushed and kissed him. The two stayed in that position for a while, remembering being that boat on a calm sea. This is the time they wanted. This is the love Hugh and Simon wanted.


End file.
